Old Dog
by Sylvie Orp
Summary: Doyle tries to teach an old dog new tricks


Cowley was a friend of Major Charles Smythe and took any concerns of his seriously. He was a lord and led a privileged life, but he also had taken the bumps and knocks of an army life and a life lived. So when he said that he was worried, so was George Cowley. The Major and Cowley shared the same club - or one of them - and Charles had dinner with George there and told him of his troubles.

A week later, Cowley arrived as arranged at Ginley Manor, Major Smythe's family seat. Cowley had his two best boys in tow. They had been brought up to date. Rather than objecting (quietly) to having Cowley next to them on assignment, the pair were secretly relieved. Both had growing concerns about their boss. It was Doyle who noticed first that Cowley was looking rather grey and tired. He had tentatively suggested to Cowley that he take a holiday. He got his head bitten off, told to mind his own business, and to concentrate on his assignments. So that was his telling off for the morning. It didn't stop him worrying though. Getting nowhere on that front, Doyle had told Bodie of his troubles. Bodie, too, told Doyle to stop fussing. However, the idea settled in Bodie's mind and he kept a closer eye on the boss. Doyle was right; Cowley was looking peaky.

Cowley and his agents were to stay for a few days at the manor and gather information below stairs and beyond the estate. Bodie and Doyle were meant to be nephews of Cowley to everyone except Major Smythe. It was a role they'd played before but 'Uncle George' still stuck in their throats, and they tried to avoid addressing Cowley at all on such assignments! They were joined at that first dinner by the Major's wife and two grown up children who were 25 and 31 and not yet married. The wife was the Major's third. Perhaps their father's overuse of the Wedding March had put the children off tying the knot. Doyle noticed that Cowley was eating very little. Even the wine went untouched. Doyle worried.

Next morning, the agents woke early and went for a jog before breakfast to work up an appetite - and to clear their hangovers from the previous night. The pair noticed Cowley sat on a chair on the patio just after they set off. Had they been closer they would have seen the wistfulness on their boss's face. Cowley watched the young men running in tandem, pace for pace, across the lawn, the family dogs trying to join in the fun. How long was it since George had enjoyed such exercise for its own sake? He remembered being as fit as these two. He remembered the competition between himself and the other boys (at boarding school) and men (in the military) of who could run the fastest, jog the longest, climb the highest. Where had all those years gone? And what had he at the end of it? A successful career both military and civilian for sure. But personally? There had been women in George Cowley's life - one in particular - but his career had always come first. Had those been the right decisions? They certainly seemed so then, and George wouldn't be where he is now - at the top of the tree - without taking risks and neglecting his personal life. He sighed pensively, his young men no longer visible, having disappeared over the horizon and away.

After a shower and breakfast, Doyle brought out a cup of tea for his boss who was still sitting alone on the terrace.

"Have you had breakfast?" Doyle asked, handing the cup over and settling himself on the only other chair.

"Stop fussing, laddie."

"I'll take that as a 'no', shall I?"

Unfortunately Doyle was interrupted by a very worried host. There'd been developments. George got up, handed the untouched drink back to Doyle, and wordlessly followed his friend into the house leaving Doyle alone with his thoughts.

Lunch was also an 'eat it when you want' affair. After prowling around the village and bringing back local gossip to the manor house, the pair returned to the dining room and looked expectantly under each lid of the salvers on the sideboard to reveal one cold, tasty morsel after another. Doyle settled down with a very healthy-looking plate while Bodie hoovered up a sample of most of what was put out for them. Bodie sat down on one side of the large table, Doyle opposite. Doyle was mid-sitting when he got up again. He placed his napkin over his lunch to keep the flies off and made to leave.

"What's up?" Bodie asked with his mouth full.

"Just checking whether 'Uncle George' has had anything?"

"You'll be asking him about his bowel movements next!"

Doyle gave him a mock-surprise 'how did you know that?!' expression before leaving. Bodie glanced out of the window and saw a corner of the patio. He leaned back in his chair to see if 'Uncle George' were there. He could just see a foot and a few inches of trousered leg, so he moved his plate further down the table and settled himself closer to the window for a better view of Daniel entering the lion's den. He was interested in his partner's brave/suicidal approach. Pity the patio wasn't bugged!

Cowley was sitting where he had been earlier that day. This time the second chair had been removed. Doyle didn't know why, or by whom, so he had to crouch in front of his boss. It was a more passive posture than looming over him. Cowley seemed to have aged.

"Before you start, Doyle, I had lunch half an hour ago." Cowley didn't even look at him.

"Was it in a glass?"

"Are you implying …?"

"No, no," Doyle said hastily, raising his palms in submission, not wanting to accuse his boss of being a sot. "But you push us in front of a doctor if we have so much as a sniffle."

Before his agent could finish, Cowley interrupted. "You and Bodie are on active service. I just sit behind a desk and shuffle papers."

"Come on, sir. You do a lot more than that and you know it." Doyle was wondering whether depression was Cowley's problem. He was getting cramp from crouching but Cowley seemed not to notice.

"For our sake, sir, to put our minds at rest - and yours - just make an appointment."

"Stop wheedling, Doyle, it doesn't suit you."

Doyle said nothing, but continued to look up at his boss. He'd stopped wheedling! Cowley sighed into the silence and got up.

"I don't need a bloody doctor - or an Aunt Bessie," he looked pointedly at Doyle who'd got stiffly, and gratefully, to his feet. "I know what's wrong with me. Age is what's wrong with me."

"No, sir," Doyle said firmly - not wanting to believe it himself, "What you need is a long holiday. And I don't mean a permanent one. We haven't discussed it, but I think I can speak for both of us here, sir, and neither of us want to be in CI5 if you're not at the helm."

Cowley looked at his agent's intense face. There was a fringe of fear there, too. Cowley noticed Doyle's 'us'. The young man automatically assumed that the 'us' and the 'we' would be interpreted as Bodie and Doyle. _They're like a married couple_, Cowley thought with some affection.

"I'm tired, laddie," Cowley said eventually, turning his gaze to the distant horizon.

"All the more reason for a holiday. You've been driving yourself too hard. Push work back to Special Branch and MI5. You can't take on everything, and neither can we. The last assignment you sent us on was definitely a Special Branch op. Stop taking on the world, sir. You can never win the war. Choose … Sorry, sir. I'll shut up and stop giving you orders!"

A smile flickered around Cowley's face and he shook his head. Bodie, not being able to hear the conversation, nearly choked on his apple juice when he saw Cowley ruffle Doyle's hair in a very fatherly way, then shake Doyle's shoulder gently before saying something else and walking off. Doyle followed him with a thoughtful gaze before returning to the dining room. Bodie heard Doyle's footsteps before he opened the door and Bodie pretended that he'd seen nothing. His partner was sharp however and he'd remembered that he'd set his plate down opposite Bodie's. Now Bodie's plate was half-way up the table, his meal hardly touched.

"Get a good view?" Doyle asked sarcastically.

"Yeah, but the acoustics were bloody awful!"

Doyle smiled and wondered how much to tell his discreet partner.


End file.
